


The Deep End

by SoundandColor



Category: Dredd (2012)
Genre: Bad Guys Made Them Do It, Emotionally Compromised, Emotionally Repressed, F/M, Hostage Situations, Mutual Non-Con, Psychic Abilities, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-08
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2019-05-29 02:20:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15062903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoundandColor/pseuds/SoundandColor
Summary: Maybe Kay was smarter than Anderson ever gave him credit for.





	The Deep End

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ChookTingle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChookTingle/gifts).



There’s a thick, cream-colored envelope on the floor beneath the rusted out mail slot inside of Anderson’s apartment. She stares down at it for a full minute, kicks the door shut and sits her bags down at the kitchen table before she picks it up. Anderson can’t remember the last time she held paper— _real paper_ , not the pulpy brown stuff they keep around the office for the inevitable blackouts—in her hands. It’s heavier than she thought it would be. She runs her thumb along the edge of its crisp corners, she opens it carefully.  
  
The handwriting within is elongated and twisting, sharp _h_ ’s and perfectly round _o_ ’s. She’d clock this for a rich person’s scrawl no matter where she saw it. The author uses her full name, _Ms. Cassandra Anderson_ , and the sight of it feels piercing. It jars her. Since becoming a full-fledged judge three years ago, she hasn’t heard or seen her first name in quite a while.    
  
The note only takes up about one fourth of the page and Anderson reads through it quickly. Apparently, she saved some wealthy person’s daughter six months ago and they would like to invite her to the girl's college graduation party. She gets invitations like this from time to time—little gifts, tickets to sporting events, even a couple of thousand credits once—all for protecting and serving people she wouldn’t be able to pick out of a line up afterward.  
  
Anderson sighs and stuffs the letter back into its envelope. She hadn’t kept any of it, of course. It’s expressly forbidden, and she’s dutifully handed each and every gift, every offer, and every invitation over to her superiors. She shoves the invitation in her bag and makes a mental note to drop it off on her captain's desk next time she’s in the office.  
  
\---  
  
“Anderson!”  
  
She looks back to see her Chief Judge striding toward her purposefully. Anderson stands at attention and nods when the woman catches up. “Sir?”  
  
The judge motions forward, and they walk toward the exit of the Hall of Justice together. “You got an invitation a few weeks back.”  
  
For a moment, Anderson’s mind goes completely blank before she recalls the cream envelope someone had mailed to her earlier that month. “Yes, sir. I logged it and turned it in.” Her voice lifts a bit on the end of the sentence even though it’s not exactly a question. She’s more interested in why it’s being brought up now.  
  
“Yes, but it was flagged. The family is known to certain people on the board and...they thought it would be alright if you wanted to attend.” Her face is pleasant as she says this, but it’s an off-books order, through and through. They get those every now and then. Requests to keep their eye on a high profile contributor. Offers to attend events of important families. They’re never said as a directive, but everyone knows that’s exactly what they are.  
  
Anderson swallows her annoyance. “Of course, sir.” She clears her throat. “I’m not sure I can recall—”  
  
The chief judge reaches down and pulls a folder out of her bag. “Their address, the invitation, a picture of the girl, and the write up you did on her attempted assault.” The chief watches her carefully for a moment as she hands the file over. “People aren’t exactly falling all over themselves to support us judges, so it can only be helpful for one of us to show these people our…softer side.”  
  
Anderson takes the file and the hint. “I’ll do my best.”  
  
“I trust that you will, and you probably shouldn’t wear your uniform. Remember, you’ll be their guest, not their security.”  With that, she turns to walk back into the Authorized Personnel Only area of the building, leaving Anderson staring after her.  
  
\---  
  
Two hundred floors over the city, Blue Skies is one of the swankiest blocks Anderson has ever been inside of. With an almost non-existent crime rate and a private police force, the building was constructed to house seventy-five thousand. Only a lucky forty thousand actually call it home as some apartments take up entire floors.  
                                 
It pisses her off that people are crammed into blocks like O’Neil, while the family she’s visiting has five floors completely to themselves. She has to push that anger aside tonight. This is for work, and Anderson has even made an effort to dress accordingly. In tailored black cigarette pants, she barely teeters in a pair of too expensive black high heels. The filmy blush colored blouse she’s wearing has been hanging in the back of her closet for at least a year and a half. She even took the time to curl and style her hair and spritz herself with perfume. She looks nice. Better than nice, she looks good, but she still doesn’t belong.  
  
The elevator opens into a wide entryway. There’s a grand piano and some pieces of artwork on the wall. She can just barely make the edges of a living space beyond when she’s corralled onto a private elevator. It goes up two floors and opens into a cavernous room with deep brown stained wood floors and wide-open windows. The women are in honest to god ball gowns, and some of the men are in tails.  
  
The family is welcoming and warm, though. They introduce her to the crowd and thank her for saving their daughter. They only leave her side when the guest of honor arrives. Afterward, she’s left on her own to fend off sidelong glances and whispers. It’s not that she’s bothered by their curiosity—as a full-fledged judge now for three years and counting, she’s gotten used to people’s stares—she’d just prefer to be home.

Someone smashes a glass, and Anderson goes for her hip reflexively, but, nothing is there. Being a guest, she was asked to leave her service weapon in the trunk of her car, and she feels strangely naked without it. Anderson worries the ornament at the end of her necklace and wonders if anyone would notice her leaving.  
  
She grabs a glass of punch, smells it to make sure there’s no alcohol then takes a sip. She’s almost decided to make her exit when she spots a familiar face and sidles up beside him instead.  
  
“Dredd.”  
  
He looks over at her, then turns back to the party. “Anderson.”  
  
“You too?”  
  
He makes a noise of acknowledgment. “The dad was being carjacked.”  
  
“Someone was trying to assault the daughter.” Anderson takes another sip of her drink and looks over the crowd with sharp eyes. “Unlucky family.”

“Maybe.”  
  
“Is it political or personal?”  
  
“No idea. They’ve got their own guards, but they wanted a judge just in case.” His voice goes even more flat than usual, “I was drafted.”  
  
“How did you pull security detail, and I got stuck working for a donation to the Hall of Justice Fund?”  
  
He shrugs, the gesture oddly delicate on his frame. “They know better.”  
  
In his full gear, Anderson can’t see his face when he says this, but she’s become strangely adept at reading his mouth, and the lines around his lips deepen slightly. On anyone else that might have been a smile. Then again, it might also be wishful thinking. The man has remained frustratingly elusive since his days as her mentor.  
  
The father motions toward her excitedly and drags an older man her way. Anderson quickly finishes off her drink and walks up to meet them. It’s going to be a long night.  
  
\---  
  
Anderson is seated at a long table off to the back of the ballroom with the grandfather, explaining how she came to be a judge and why a donation to the Hall of Justice Fund is really investing into his own future when the music in the next room cuts out suddenly.  
  
She glances toward the hall, but only stops talking when she hears rapid gunfire. She reaches for her hip again, curses then stands, and pulls the older man up beside her.  
  
“What are you—- “  
  
She ignores the outraged tone and pulls open a small door half hidden behind a credenza. The closet is shallow and filled with party supplies, but it’s just big enough for the gentlemen to fit when she unceremoniously shoves him inside.  
  
“My family!” he pleads lowly. “I have to—”  
  
She looks down at her phone, but it’s worthless. No service. She’s not surprised they’re using some type of blocker. They’re illegal but easy enough to get on the street.  
  
“Do you have your phone?” she asks, then ducks further down after another shower of gunfire.  
  
“It’s in the coatroom.”  
  
That’s on the other side of the apartment. She hands him hers. “Keep trying this.”  
  
“But—!” 

With that, Anderson shuts the door and makes her way slowly toward the hall leading into the main room. She keeps her back to the wall, thumbs her necklace, and slowly moves closer.  
  
She can hear them now, four or five voices cutting across the cries and screams of the guests. There are two—three bodies on the floor. All of them are dressed in full black, the families personal security team. Two more members of their team are in front of the door. Across from them, she sees Dredd. His back to the corner, but his service weapon is not pointed at the elevator where the guards are standing, it’s toward someone in the opposite corner.  
  
“You—“  
  
A gun goes off and she hears the unmistakable thump of a lifeless body hitting the ground. The party-goers scream.

“I know what you’re doing. Try it again and another one catches a bullet. I’ll even let you pick.”  
  
Anderson’s back straightens the moment the person begins to speak. That voice… She swallows thickly and makes a risky calculation as she maneuvers out to see further around the corner.  
  
Kay.  
  
She quickly steps back into the hall. How is he here, she wonders shocked. How is he here when he should be buried in an unmarked grave somewhere?  
  
Anderson wants to convince herself he isn’t the man she thinks he is, but the arm—amputated cleanly above the elbow—confirms her first instinct. Kay survived. Somehow, he survived, he evaded the meat wagons after Peach Trees opened up and got right back to business. It’s just her luck he’d come here tonight. Just her goddamn luck.  
  
She pushes her hair back and tries to think. No gun, no way out. Kay knows their tricks, he knows their weapons, he’s killing hostages. She takes a deep breath, she’s got to throw him off guard. Anderson steps out into the living room, her hands held up high.  
  
Every gun in the room swivels in her direction. “Hello, Kay.”  
  
He looks dumbfounded, genuinely gobsmacked when he meets her gaze. “Bitch,” he says like someone else might say sweetie or darling. He looks to Dredd. “You didn’t tell me Mutie Bitch was here!”  
  
Dredd frowns deeply. She can’t tell if it’s focused at her or Kay.  
  
“Looks like the gang's back together again!” he yells happily and steps forward, then swivels around on his heel. “Why wasn’t I told one of the guests was missing?”  
  
One of the guards opens and closes his mouth. “I didn’t—“ the other person securing the exit backs away. “I didn’t realize she was missing.” he finally admits. 

Kay steps toward him, shaking his head.

“She’s all that’s left. It won’t happen again,” the man promises lowly.  
  
Anderson thinks of Grandpa in the closet and hopes, for his sake, that he stays put.  
  
Kay rests his gun against the man’s temple and tsks. “It better not.” Then he turns his full attention back on Anderson. “You thought I was dead.”  
  
“I’d hoped so.”  
  
He laughs sharply and licks his lips. “I’ve been thinking about this for a long time. About what I would do when I saw you again.”  
  
“When?”  
  
He steps into her space. “You think I’d let you go?”  
  
“You gonna talk all night?” Dredd asks, pulling Kay’s attention back to himself and sounding bored.  
  
“Am I going to talk all night?” He shakes his head, “Nah, I got a few plans, but first..” Kay waves his gun between the two of them. “You ever fucked?”

Neither of them attempts to answer, but he’s not really looking for a response.

“I don’t think you have,” he mutters lowly like they’re not even there.

Anderson’s confused, she feels the sharp tendrils of real alarm beginning to branch out inside of her.  
  
She hasn’t needed to read him so far; Kay is nothing if not obvious, but he’s throwing her for a loop. She reaches out mentally, only to have him throw up a wall she’s shocked she’s having trouble scaling. He looks back at her with a smile and the surprise doubles. He knows she was trying to read him. He shouldn’t, but somehow, he knows.  
  
“Didn’t I say I’ve been thinking on you, on this, a long time?” He points his gun toward the back of the house. “Move.” Then he turns to Dredd. “Put your gun on the table and follow her.”  
  
Dredd hesitates, looks over to Anderson, thinks through his options, then slowly puts his weapon down and moves toward the hall.  
  
“Pat him down,” Kay orders one of the men and he checks Dredd thoroughly. Taking a knife and another small gun off him before shoving him toward Anderson. “The money—” the man starts cautiously.  
  
“Will still be here,” Kay finishes. “Nobody touch that,” he motions toward Dredd’s gun, “unless you want one of these.” He wags his stump in the other men’s direction for emphasis. “This won’t take long. Keep track of the guests. Kill anybody who moves.”  
  
A ripple goes through the room at his order, and they move down the hall quietly to a hidden door. They descend one flight and emerge into another hall. They take a right, and a large bedroom with a huge window looms at the end of the corridor. He seems to know everything about the place. Every secret passageway, every room. Their personal guards must have been a goldmine. He hurries them forward but leaves the door open at their backs.  
  
“I had other plans,” Kay says offhandedly. “But since you’re both here...”He points his gun at Dredd. “Get undressed.”  
  
She knew where this was going. The moment he led them away from the group, she knew. Dredd did too, she’s sure. He breathes hard through his nose, angry but still contained. For the moment anyway. They knew, but she would never have predicted Kay’s method. Anderson would have thought he’d do the job himself, maybe even have his men go at her. He’s chosen a more private and personal violation instead.  
  
Dredd stands firm. “No.”  
  
“I’m the one with the gun,” Kay says flatly. “Now do it.”  
  
Dredd plants his booted feet firmly and crosses his arms over his chest. “No.”  
  
Dredd is more capable than just about any person Anderson knows, but he’s stubborn to a fault. Her weapon is a hundred floors below them, and even he won’t be able to take five armed men down with no gun. They need time, time to figure out how they can get themselves and the hostages out of this alive. They need to make Kay think he’s won.  
  
No matter the whispers, she can’t force anyone to do something they’re dead set against. She doesn’t have that ability, but she can influence someone. Plant a seed, a suggestion, into their minds. Depending on how delicately she goes about it, they can even believe it was their own idea once the thought takes shape. She has no time for delicacy.

 _I have a plan_.

Anderson turns the thought into an arrow, into a hammer. She projects it at Dredd with everything she’s got, and he starts, begins to turn to her before thinking better of it.  
  
Dredd breathes deep, clenches his hand into fists before reaching up to pull off his jacket and bulletproof vest. He moves for the for the black t-shirt he wears underneath, before dropping his hands. “That’s it. I’m done.”  
  
She thinks Kay will argue, but there’s a glint in his eye now that he’s gotten Dredd to bend, a banked, but panting desire she has to force her eyes away from.

Kay nods and motions to the bed. “Sit.”  
  
Dredd takes his time about it, but he gets there eventually, looking for all the world like he’s sitting on a bench in the park, perfectly content and comfortable.  
  
“Unzip him.”  
  
Dredd tenses immediately, but Anderson doesn’t hesitate before stepping forward. She glances up at his visor before touching his shoulder gently, trying to get him to lean back some. She pops the button then lowers the zip. The sound is probably louder than anything she’s ever heard.  
  
She takes a step back afterward, but Kay pushes her forward.  
  
“Get to it,” Kay orders. “Use that mouth for something worthwhile.”  
  
Dredd lurches forward sharply; it’s clear he wants to fight, to argue, but he stays seated instead. Anderson said she had a plan, and this man who trusts no-one, has decided to put his trust in her. Anderson steps further into his space.  
  
Thinking of the many ways this could have gone, being forced to fuck her former mentor isn’t one of the worst. Not by half. Kay is doing this to humiliate her, but he’s gone about it the wrong way. Dredd will never look at her the way guys sometimes do after she fucks them. Like they kept a piece of her, like they got one over. If—when—they get out of here, he’ll treat her the same way he always has, and he’ll never speak of this again.  
  
Anderson watches him until she’s sure he’s looking back, then gets down on her knees.  
  
Kay laughs, but she ignores him. She runs her palms up Dredd’s thighs and reaches inside the opening of his trousers. Despite the circumstances, Dredd’s already half hard and growing when she takes him into her hand. She thinks it must have been a very long time for him. It’s been a long time for, too.

Anderson runs her thumb through the pearl of precum on top, then takes him in her mouth. He tastes of nothing really. The slight salt of skin, the heat of him. She sets a steady pace. Not punishing, but not teasing either. _Smooth_.

Dredd breathes through his nose, then groans like the sound was forced out, pulled from somewhere deep inside. He clenches and releases his hands, sets his jaw. He doesn’t touch her, but she knows that he wants to. Dredd leans forward, his back nearly curving over her as she works.

Anderson is falling into a rhythm, a thoughtless space. A dangerous one, too. She doesn’t notice Kay has moved closer until he reaches down for her, and Dredd’s hand shoots out to grab his wrist.  
  
Dredd’s voice is strained when he says, “No.”  
  
Kay shakes him off, obviously annoyed and shaken. “You should be thanking me, man.” He mutters, but doesn’t move away or reach for her again. He just watches.

Anderson can feel him radiating heat at her side. She can hear him breathing.  
  
The three of them like this is oddly intimate. Too close for comfort.  
  
She moves her focus to the head and uses her hand at his root. Swallowing around him, Dredd jerks in her mouth, grows even thicker.

He moves his hand slightly and touches the ends of her hair.  
  
“Alright, that’s enough,” Kay says, voice low. He hauls her up by the arm, pulling his gun when she tries to shake off his grip and pushes her face down on the bed.  
  
“You,” he points the gun at Dredd. “Fuck her.”  
  
Anderson doesn’t turn her head to watch, but she can feel Dredd get up from the bed. He moves behind her, puts his hand on her hip tentatively.  
  
_You gonna make a move sometime soon?_  
  
It’s strange hearing his voice in her mind. He’s made a concerted effort to never communicate with her this way and she can feel a tinge of his anxiousness.  
  
_We could probably_ —  
  
_Not yet!_ she counters quickly. He’s always been one to forge ahead, damn the consequences, but they have more than themselves to worry about here. They have to be careful. _Soon. Just not yet._  
  
He clearly struggles with her decision, then resolutely reaches around to deftly unbutton and lower the zipper of her pants.

Apparently, he’s decided to keep trusting her.

Kay never lowers his gun, but he watches them closely as Dredd hooks her pants and underwear and pulls them down with one movement. Dredd moves closer, hesitantly brings his hand around her thigh and touches her gently between the legs.  
  
“Yeah,” Kay whispers. Moving slightly closer. Trying to get a better view.

Dredd’s fingers slip easily between her folds and when one slides inside, she clamps down on it instinctively.  
  
“You liked that, huh, bitch?”  
  
For the first time tonight, Anderson feels the deep thrum of shame move through her. She doesn’t want this. Not here, not with these men, but her body’s reacting without her consent, growing slick and warm beneath Dredd’s touch.  
  
His touch grows bolder, slipping around her clit with deep pressure she has to force herself to breathe through. It feels good. She wishes it didn’t. Dredd stops then, swallows thickly and gets down to his knees behind her.  
  
She isn’t breathing, Anderson notices this all at once but doesn’t fight it. She’s wound tight, wanting and angry. She wonders if this is how he’s feeling too.

Dredd parts her with his thumbs, starts to move in when Kay speaks.  
  
“What are you doing?” Kay asks, shaking his head and waving the gun at them. “You don’t have to do all that. Just fuck her already.”    
  
Dredd looks at the other man, and even with his face covered, Anderson can read his weariness in the lines of his body.  
  
“I guess that’s why there were no women in Ma-Ma’s gang.”  
  
It’s not completely shocking, Dredd making a wry observation during a critical moment—you’re the psychic, you tell me—but it shocks a laugh out of her anyway.  
  
Kay’s face scrunches up in anger and he pulls back, hitting Dredd with the butt of his gun. There’s a cracking noise, a spray of blood, a deep groan.

When Anderson looks back, Dredd’s mouth is a mess of gore, he’s doubled over, his erection—she can’t help but notice—hasn’t flagged an inch.  
  
Kay bounces on his heels, keyed up by the violence. “That’s settled. Now fuck her.”  
  
Dredd spits off to the side and steps forward slowly, lining himself up with her. He’s not overly long, but thick enough to have to go slowly. He works his way in by millimeters.  
  
Anderson turns her face away and bites her lip to keep from making a sound as he thumbs the ragged scar of pink, raised flesh on her side, a mark that she knows mirrors one of his own.  
  
He thrusts inside her shallowly a few times, feeling her out, working her up, before moving deep.

She gasps--tries to focus on the sheets under her hands or the shag rug beneath her knees--but the way he’s moving against her, inside of her, is impossible to ignore.  
  
Kay sits at the foot of the bed beside them, but she only barely notices.  
  
Dredd is moving faster now. He puts one hand at the small of her back, leans forward and cups the other around her shoulder.

Dredd’s blood is in her hair, dripping down her face, ruining her blouse, and soaking into the sheets. His breath is loud and wet at her ear. He’s heavy against her back, pressing her down, making it difficult to breathe. He’s thick and hard inside of her.

He’s trying—and failing—not to think about how she feels— _wet and so fucking good_ —around him.

Kay’s got the tips of his fingers against her shoulder, he’s staring at the curve of Dredd’s neck. He’s not thinking much of anything, but his want is a fist in his gut.  
  
She can feel the both of them inside of her head. Like a carbon copy, filmy and pale. Like shadows moving on top of one another. Nearly indistinguishable. Too much. _Too much_ .  
  
_The gun_ .  
  
The thought emerges from a grey and swoony space in the back of her own mind. He’s not holding the gun.

Anderson’s eyes pop open, but she’s looking through someone else’s gaze. She can see herself, the back of her hair stuck to her neck with sweat. Dredd lying almost flat on top of her, his hands gripping the sheets on either side of her. Through Kay’s peripheral vision, she can see the gun sitting on the bed near his side.  
  
She’s using her powers like a battering ram, and he should be able to sense her, even without the training, as all her subtlety is gone.

Kay’s too focused on watching them as she knew he would be.

This is it.

She reaches up and pulls the necklace from her throat discreetly, slips her middle finger through the sunburst design on its ornament. Weapons like this aren’t always practical. Fighting an assailant in close quarters isn’t something a person should ever try and do.  
  
Good thing she’s a judge.  
  
_Now!_  
  
Anderson rears up suddenly, dislodging Dredd and pulling her arm back. She strikes Kay without warning, throwing everything she’s got into it, going for the face. He doesn’t have time to scream as the blade hits home and rips through skin.    
  
Dredd’s there with her. He moves for the gun and pulls the trigger in a single movement. Kay reaches for his throat, for his face. He’s choking on his own blood. They stand on shaky legs and watch.  
  
This time, Anderson stays to make sure he’s dead.  
  
\---  
  
They don’t speak as they pull their clothes back on and make their way upstairs. Not in their heads or out loud. They don’t need to.

Anderson has the gun, so she takes point. They climb the stairs quietly, walk back to the ballroom on silent feet and she takes out the first member of Kay’s team easy. Once Dredd gets his gun back from someone foolish enough not to heed Kay’s earlier warning, it’s pretty much target practice.  
  
\---  
  
The calvary appears before either of them can make a call. It seems grandpa didn’t exactly follow her orders. He climbed out onto the balcony and nearly fell 102 stories, hanging off the side trying to get a signal. She almost smiles at the image. Dredd sits beside her, lost in his own thoughts as they wait to be interviewed. His presence, if not exactly comforting, is steady and sure.  
  
He refused the pain medication they offered, and the bag of ice they gave him instead sits melting in his lap. Nobody asked why they were taken to the second-floor bedroom where Kay’s body was found and they don’t offer an explanation. Anderson never expected him to blab to the world what happened, but she’s surprised he hasn’t told the higher-ups. When she says as much, his response is muffled, but decipherable.  
  
“Didn’t want to give them any ideas.”  
  
She feels a tremor of something go through her at his words. She knows the Hall of Justice is putting together a Psi-Division and some of the things she’s heard coming out of the trial stages—experimentation, stress tests and worse—don’t give her much confidence in the higher-ups. If they told them what happened, she and Dredd would have black bags on their heads in a basement somewhere this time tomorrow.  
  
“Judge Dredd,” the interviewer calls, motioning him over to give his statement, 

Dredd stands, starts to turn towards her, then hesitates. Only slightly— _just barely_ —but it’s there, before walking away.  
  
She watches him go without a word.

Anderson thinks of Dredd on top of her, on his knees between her legs, of the way he wanted to touch her but wouldn’t, of his fingers brushing the edges of her hair. She thinks it will always be there between them. No matter how many years pass. No matter how hard they try to forget, because they have to forget. _They have to_ .  
  
Anderson leans back into the couch and takes a steadying breath.  
  
She thinks maybe Kay was smarter than she ever gave him credit for.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for the beta, heeroluva!


End file.
